Keep It Burning
by KnightlyWordsmith
Summary: York pulled the lighter out from its compartment in his armor. He let his hand trace the worn surface for a moment, and his troubled thoughts wondered if it would still light. Setting his mouth in a thin line he flicked it open.


**A/N-**

Normally I write sad Carolina thinking York is dead, so for a change have some sad York thinking Carolina is dead.

This was in part inspired by British-Prophetess' "Red vs Blue 40 Themes Challenge" on deviantart.

* * *

_*Snick*_

The soft glow of the flame wavered before his eyes. York watched as it twisted and curled; a plaything of the gentle breeze that was blowing. A swaying tail of flame, reminiscent of flaming red locks softly flowing through his fingers.

_*Snick*_

The lighter closed, its flame disappearing.

Ending his nightly ritual, York turned over on his side. Sleep slowly claimed him as he listened to the quiet drone of Delta running through endless probabilities for "fun".

Weeks later he finally tracked down all the clues to find the identity of the rogue Freelancer agent. Agent Texas had been causing trouble again. As for the agent he was looking for, who he still held a glimmer of hope that he'd find, nothing. Not a whisper.

That night, York pulled the lighter out from its compartment in his armor. He let his hand trace the worn surface for a moment, and his troubled thoughts wondered if it would still light. Setting his mouth in a thin line he flicked it open.

_*Snick*_

The flame flickered into life, wavered on the edge for a second's breadth, then flared up strong and whole. It illuminate his scarred hands, a stubborn guard against the darkened night.

York's shoulders sagged, and he tilted his head back. It was still here. _She_ was still here with him.

_*Snick*_

That night in his dreams York found himself at an all too familiar place. The pounding beats and offending strobe lights of Club Errera were a favorite haunt of his dream self. He always seemed to find himself here. More importantly he always found Carolina here.

Sometimes it was like replay footage of a Grifball match. She'd come up to him and snatch the lighter from his hand, just as she had done all those years ago. Then it would happen again, and again, slowing down and focusing on different details each time.

The sweep of her flaming red hair across her forehead. The gentle_ tisk_ of her tongue which had been the only warning of her presence before she grabbed the lighter. The ghostly brush of her hand against his as she closed her fingers around the lighter and pulled it from his grasp.

Other times he only caught faint glimpses of her. The sight of her hips swaying as she melted into the crowd. A flash of red hair and green eyes on the edges of his vision. The lingering smell of cinnamon which always wafted from her hair.

Then there were the nights he cherished the most. The nights she was neither a memory, nor a shifting image. The nights that would hint at the times they could have had together if everything hadn't gone so horribly wrong.

She'd sit at the bar with him, talking, laughing, conversing about things they never had the chance to. She'd pull him to his feet, her grip around his hand strong, and firm, and _real_. Dragging him to the dance floor she'd move and sway while he'd clumsily follow along, basking in her presence. Her lips would curve in that smile that turned his legs to jelly, and lit a fire in his veins.

She was just so vibrant. So _alive_.

Tonight there was no sign of her.

She wasn't flitting through the crowd toward him. There was no gentle tick of her tongue that would herald her appearance. No teasing flash of her in the corner of his eye.

Just him, the club, and the cold metal of the lighter in his hand.

Around him the lights seemed to dim. The heavy pounding of the bass beat receded into a faint background rhythm. A growing sense of dread began to envelope him.

He lifted the lighter up to rest before his eyes. The name of the club which had once been etched brightly in yellow had all but faded away. Small dents and nicks riddled the metal casing as he brushed a thumb across its surface.

This wasn't the fresh new lighter that Carolina had taken from his hand, starting everything between them. This was the lighter that had crossed hands through heartbreak, and spent the years since tucked away by his heart.

He could feel a lump rising in his throat, making it difficult to swallow. The pounding of his heart was now deafening in his ears, drowning out what little of the background noise still remained.

He didn't want to do this, but he had to.

_*Snick*_

No flame, just an ever growing darkness as the lights of the club dimed into nothingness.

With a gasp York startled into wakefulness.

The decrepit warehouse he'd stowed away in for the night was dark and quiet. The only sound was the one inside his mind as Delta ran through his never ending calculations.

With trembling hands York pulled out the lighter. Holding his breath he flicked it open, hoping, just _hoping_, it would still light.

_*Snick*_

Nothing.

Wetting his lips, feeling that same dread from his dream building once more, he tried again.

_*Snick*_

Nothing.

_*Snick*_

_Nothing._

No flame. No light. No reminder of the woman he had loved and lost.

Gripping the empty lighter tighter, he held his clenched fist up to his face. His chin quivered and a single tear streaked down his cheek. Angrily, he wiped at the wetness on his face, then opened his palm to stare at the lighter again.

He could just leave it here. Move on, and move forward in his life. Stop chasing ghosts.

Maybe it was finally time to let her go.

"Agent York?" Delta's level, logical voice broke into his thoughts.

York tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, as he turned to address the glowing avatar that had appeared at his shoulder. "Yeah, D?" His voice only broke a little on the words.

"It has come to my attention that you failed to record a journal last night." Of all the things to be concerned about at the that moment, it was record keeping. York truly didn't understand the AI sometimes.

"This puts you off schedule by approximately 11.1%. Would you like to record one now?" Delta's voice was still passive, seemingly unaware of York's troubled thoughts. That didn't mean he wasn't aware of them, but the AI's voice never seemed to change, regardless of the circumstances. Emotion could not dictate pure logic.

A beat or two passed before either of them spoke again, as York contemplated the idea for a moment. "No thanks D, we'll catch up tomorrow," he replied finally. "Better to sleep on things." That was of course if he could get back to sleep.

"Very well, York," Delta replied simply, still unfazed. "Then I bid you good night." The AIs avatar then faded, leaving York in darkness once more.

York covered the lighter with his fingers again, then slipped it back into its hiding spot. Better to sleep on that too, he decided.

Rolling back over York waited for sleep to claim him once again. In the back of his mind he could hear Delta droning away with his numbers again, but something was off this time.

The sounds weren't quite as robotic as usual. It was as if there was a rhythm to them. They made an odd, computeristic melody, _no_ lullaby.

With that soothing sound in his mind, and the lighter safely tucked away, York drifted off to sleep once more.

* * *

**A/N- **

Delta may not always know how to show it, but he really does care for York (:

As always, please let me know what you thought! I love comments and critiques!


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